


To Mingle With The Human Race

by Hekate1308



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 07:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: "I never really liked the police" might not have been the most uplifting last words his dad could have said to him, but Morse decided as soon as he realized he was dead that those were the ones he’d utter if someone asked.His real last words had been much, much worse."You’re not even my son."But even knowing this, he could never have foreseen who his real father would turn out to be.





	To Mingle With The Human Race

**Author's Note:**

> Is this the most obvious AU anyone could come up with? Yeah, it is. Enjoy!

_I never really liked the police_ might not have been the most uplifting last words his dad could have said to him, but Morse decided as soon as he realized he was dead that those were the ones he’d utter if someone asked.

His real last words had been much, much worse.

_You’re not even my son._

He could have spoken metaphorically, of course; but over the weeks and months that followed, Morse thought of those words again and again and remembered bits and pieces of conversations and fights between his parents when he had been a small child, and slowly, the conviction that he had spoken the truth slowly stole upon him.

In the end, he decided, it didn’t make a difference. Dad had still raised him – Morse liked to believe he had done his best – and whoever his biological father was, they would never meet.

Or so he thought.

It had all begun when he had transferred to Oxford, really. He and DI Thursday had quickly established an excellent rapport, and even if he had to constantly struggle for his role as his bagman, had to do normal boring police work for a while, was shot and eventually tried to run away, he was still glad to have met the man. Somehow, they had formed an almost instantaneous connection.

It was only later that he would wonder if there was something subconscious, almost ethereal about it, but that was ridiculous, of course.

* * *

 

Eventually, he had to break his vow that he would never tell a living soul what Dad had revealed to him as he lay dying.

He and DI Thursday were having a drink at the end of a taxing day, talking about the case.

“But if he knew that Thornton wasn’t his father, then he wouldn’t have a motive to kill him” Thursday argued.

“I don’t think so” Morse said firmly. “It doesn’t really make a difference since he still raised him, sir.”

“Are you sure it wouldn’t make a difference?”

“Yes. Absolutely” he says firmly. When he saw he was still unconvinced, he took a deep breath. He didn’t think Frederick Thornton had killed Albert Thornton, even if his mother had admitted that he wasn’t his biological father. And he had his good reasons for it.

“I know because – well – Dad. He told me on his deathbed that he wasn’t my real father, and it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

It certainly still hurt as much as it had before, thinking of what he had said about the police.

For a few moments, DI Thursday said nothing, apparently processing the information. Then he replied, “I’m sorry, lad.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s just a fact. It changes nothing.”

“Are you sure that he wasn’t – that his mind wasn’t going?”

“Yes. I remembered things, after he told me. Like him always calling me “your son” when talking to Mum. Or always pointing out how I was her responsibility. I didn’t understand it as a child.”

After a pause, Thursday began, “Have you tried –“

“I have nothing to go on” he hastily interrupted him. He had pondered the thought for a while, but what good would it have done even if he had been able to find some stranger and tell him the truth? It would only end with Joyce hearing about it eventually, and Gwen, who couldn’t have known because she would have thrown him out immediately if she had, too; and he didn’t want that.

“I see”. Thursday fell silent once more.

But right before they parted at the exit of the pub, he squeezed his shoulder, and it was enough.

They arrested the murderer – the neighbour – two days later.

* * *

 

It was a well-known fact that Thursday could keep no secrets from his wife. Even if he tried, Mrs. Thursday knew immediately that something was wrong, sole Morse was hardly surprised when, after that particular case, she started fussing over him even more than before.

He didn’t mind her knowing. Or the fussing-

It was been so long since he’d had a mother of his own to do it.

* * *

 

And then… things became more complicated. Granted, they often did, when Morse was involved; but he could never have foreseen this.

They were on a stakeout. Their suspect came from Stamford in Lincolnshire, causing Thursday to reminiscence while they waited.

“I once knew someone who came from Stamford. A young girl. That was before the war, and before I met Win, of course. Must have been – God, about 38 or 39. How time flies. Connie. Connie Herbert.”

And Morse’s blood ran cold.

Connie Herbert. _Constance_ Herbert.

His mother’s maiden name.

And if DI Thursday meant what he had said the way Morse believed he did, then –

38 or 39.

And Morse had been born on October 1st, 1939.

No. It couldn’t be. It just wasn’t possible. Such coincidences didn’t happen outside of fiction.

Thankfully, their suspect appeared and put the thoughts out of his head for the time being.

* * *

 

Later that night, he lay awake in bed, the conversation running through his head again and again.

It couldn’t be. He couldn’t simply have stumbled across his father in Oxford.

And DI Thursday at that. No. It just wasn’t possible.

There was a way to make sure – or at least he thought there was, though. He hadn’t been quite truthful when he had said he had nothing to go on because there was Aunt Prudence.

It was just that he hadn’t spoken to her in years. He didn’t even know if she still lived in Lincolnshire.

It was worth a try, if only to get this preposterous idea out of his head.

* * *

 

When he took a few days off work because of a “family emergency” DI Thursday immediately started requiring if he needed help, and for a moment of weakness, Morse let himself contemplate what it would have meant if, instead of being sent to Dad, the Thursdays had taken him in after Mum’s death. In the next, he chastised himself for it, telling himself again that it simply couldn’t be true.

The drive took a while, but he didn’t mind. He was busy ordering his thoughts.

Aunt Prudence, as it turned out, still lived in the same small house he remembered being taken to for visits when he was a small child.

She was surprised but not displeased to see him, which was more than he had expected.

“You’ve grown up into a fine young man” she said after she’d served them tea. “Your mother would be pleased to see it.”

He smiled weakly, unsure of how to bring up the subject. She beat him to it, however.

“So, why are you here? Not that I’m not happy to see my nephew again, but if you drove all the way here from Oxford, you must have a reason.”

He took a deep breath and decided a matter-of-fact approach was the best idea. “When Dad died…”

She studied his face, then breathed, “So the old fool told you in the end. I was against it from the first. Told him you were his son, since he had given you his name and a home. I saw no reason why you should come to think otherwise.”

He didn’t quite agree with her, but he saw her reasoning, and he hadn’t come for a fight. “Did Mum ever tell you who my real father was?”

Her gaze softened. “Does it really make that much of a difference to you?”

“Not really, but I’d still like to know.”

She sighed and took a sip of her tea. “She kept that one close to her chest. I can’t tell you much, I’m afraid. She said he was a young policeman in London. Then the war broke out and when she found she was pregnant, she had no way of contacting him, so she married Morse in order to keep you.”

Morse swallowed. The sacrifices his mother had had to make…

“She wouldn’t have had it any other way. She loved you” she said firmly, and he believed her.

But – but – a young policeman in London – surely –

“Did she ever tell you his name?”

“Just his first one. Fred. She said he was called Fred.”

He would later think he had done a rather remarkable job of pretending that his world hadn’t just shifted from under his feet.

* * *

 

This was it then, he reflected as he drove back. The truth.

DI Fred Thursday was his father.

Good God, he was gladder than ever that he had never reacted to Miss Thursday’s – that he had never reacted to his little sister’s flirting.

No. Miss Thursday. He would keep calling her that, even if his head.

For, as he returned to Oxford, he made a decision.

His governor would never know.

Tempting as it was to tell him, nothing good would come of it. They worked together; and even more importantly, the news might cause his family distress.

No, it was better for all involved if he kept silent.

And he _did_ keep silent. Really, it was easier to pretend he had never learned the truth.

And for three years, he managed to do just that.

* * *

 

It happened in the blink of an eye.

The robber was holding Miss Thursday at gunpoint. There was only one thing to do.

And he did.

A few moments later, Morse was bleeding out on the floor, and with the clarity that sometimes befell those who were about to do, he reflected that now, it wouldn’t make a difference to him if he told DI Thursday the truth, but dismissed the thought in the next moment.

“Lad? Lad!”

DI – his _father’s_ grip on his shoulder, borderline painful. “You hang on, you hear me? Ambulance’s on its way –“

He didn’t hear much more after that.

* * *

 

This was a nightmare.

Joan was safe, that was true; she was safe and healthy and currently looked after by Win; but Fred was sitting on an uncomfortable hospital chair waiting for news on his bagman, Morse’s blood still staining his hands.

“If I were you, I’d clean myself up a bit, Inspector” Doctor DeBryn said, and if he hadn’t seen the worry in his eyes, he might have hated him for it. “It might scare the other patients” he added kindly and, feeling that he was right about that, he went to the bathroom to clean up.

He looked at his face in the mirror. Haggard, old, and even for the fact that he had coughed up the bullet, looking worse than ever.

He took a deep breath and returned to the waiting room. DeBryn had procured tea from somewhere. “No news yet” he reported.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

It had been a long night. Morse had finally come out of the operating room at three thirty in the morning, but they had warned Thursday that he wasn’t out of danger yet.

He came home to find Joan sitting on the stairs, a suitcase next to her, sobbing into her hands.

“Joanie?” he asked, even more worry clutching his heart in its tight grip.

“I wanted to run away” she sniffed “But then I realized I couldn’t. Not with Morse all but dying for me.”

“He’s not dying” he said grimly, even though he hadn’t yet been able to make himself believe it. “And when he comes to it, you can thank him yourself.”

She hugged him tightly and he held on to her.

He hadn’t lost his daughter, at least.

* * *

 

Two days later, Morse hadn’t got any better and it dawned on Fred that they should be calling someone. Granted, the lad’s parents were dead, but he had spoken fondly of his sister. She deserved to know he was fighting for his life.

Since there was no number to call in his file – Fred spent an inordinate amount of time staring at his birth date, thinking with a wildly beating heart on how young Morse still was, too young, much too young for – for – he didn’t finish the thought; since there was no number to call in his file, he went to his flat.

If – _when_ , he told himself firmly, when – Morse woke up he’d have a word or two about him about keeping his flat clean.

He went through his desk (after sadly contemplating the three empty bottles of whiskey on it) trying to see if there was address book of sorts, when –

A picture fell into his hands and he frowned as he realized he recognized the young woman on it, but needed a moment to place her.

Then he realized.

Connie. Connie Herbert. His first serious – if you could call a romance when they had still almost been children serious – girlfriend.

But how –

He turned the picture around.

 _Constance Mors_ e, it said on the back.

Constance? He’d always assumed her name was Cornelia, and she had never corrected him –

And it all came back to Fred. That Morse’s father hadn’t been his biological one. That he had never heard from Connie again after the war broke out.

And, clearest of all, the birth date he’s stared at for too long today.

October 1st, 1939.

He sat down on the chair at the desk heavily. No. It couldn’t be. Morse couldn’t be his son.

And then he remembered other things. His Mum had been rather musical, hadn’t she? And then there were other things – how he and Morse had somehow clicked right from the beginning; how protective he had always felt of the lad; how Win and Joan and Sam had seemed drawn to him, too –

He swallowed. No. Certainly not –

Still, he had to make sure.

If only to get rid off the suspicion that was forming in his mind.

* * *

 

He couldn’t call Morse’s sister and ask her if by any chance her half-brother wasn’t really her brother after all. That would be too much for someone so young, especially since he would need to tell her in the same breath that said brother-or-maybe-not-brother was fighting for his life.

But there was another number he found written down; the note looked recent, too.

_Aunt Prudence._

He thought it best to first let her know what had happened. After he had introduced himself, he heard a sharp intake of breath. “Is he alright?”

He told her the truth.

“I am coming.” She hung up without another word.

* * *

 

Morse’s aunt proved to be a strong-willed no-nonsense kind of woman who immediately bore down on his doctors for a realistic expectation of what could happen to him.

Fred arrived just in time for her to blink back a tear, take a deep breath and nod, then disappear into Morse’s room.

He sat down and waited for her to re-emerge.

When she did, he moved to intercept her. “Mrs. Prudence Matthews? I’m DI Fred Thursday, Constable Morse’s superior officer –“

“You were the one that called. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Tea?”

They drink the cheap but at least warm hospital tea on a table in the cafeteria.

He should have known that Morse’s aunt had to be sharp, too.

He was busy calculating how long he could stay until he had to return to the station – all things considered, Superintendent Bright had been very understanding until now – when she interrupted his musing with, “Fred you said your name was?”

“Yes”.

“He found you, then.”

When he stared at her she continued, “It’s not difficult when you know what to look for. You both have the same look on your face when you are figuring something out.”

He swallowed. “Connie told you, then?”

She smiled. “I have no one heard call her Connie in a long time.” Her face fell as she went on, “I figured something must be up when he came to me not so long ago to ask what I knew about his father. Thought he had a suspicion. Constance never told me your last name, but… well… a copper shows up, clearly worried for the boy, much more than any boss would be even in a situation like this, and add to that your first name…”

“Is there any chance –“ he blurted out from sheer exhaustion, then closed his eyes. He couldn’t very well ask if her sister had been with –

“She assured me you were the only man she’d ever lain with before she became pregnant, and Constance was always as good as her word” she declared, unconsciously slipping back into Quaker vocabulary.

“I didn’t mean –“

“It’s a natural question to ask, Inspector. Constance would have understood.”

“He never told me” he confessed to her quietly. “I only realized when I went through his flat to see if there was someone we should call and found Connie’s picture.”

She took a deep breath. “That… complicates things. Then again” nodding towards his ring finger, “Maybe he thought the truth would just complicate things for you. I assume that’s not a new development?”

He shook his head. “Been married for over twenty years. Two kids.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. “He was always very fond of Joyce” she eventually offered.

It didn’t surprise him that Morse was a good older brother. He suddenly remembered that he had believed he was going out with Joanie and felt slightly ill.

“Ah. One of them’s a daughter?”

Prudence Matthews really was proof that whatever brains he had, Morse hadn’t solely inherited from his side of the family.

He wondered if he was in shock, but it didn’t feel like it. No, more like something he’d always known in the back of his mind had suddenly been confirmed.

“You are already close, I gather?”

He nodded. “He’s been my bagman for a while.”

“Oh dear, and he’s had to deal with the truth all on his own.” She shook her head. “Can’t imagine what he must have been going through.”

Neither could he.

Mrs. Matthews had to return home to arrange things so she could come for a longer stay, and she had also volunteered to break the news to Morse’s sister, so he brought her to the train.

A phone call to Superintendent Bright only resulted in being ordered to “get some rest.”

And then it was time to go home and tell Win.

* * *

 

She was cooking when he returned. “Fred! You are already home?” She hurried out of the kitchen.

“No changes” he said quickly.

She kissed him. “Not worse, then” she said bravely.

He didn’t deserve her. He never had.

And now he had to tell her –

Fred desperately hoped the news wouldn’t pain her.

“What is it?” she asked when she saw the face he was making.

He sighed. “It’s about – oh, bugger it all, I need a drink.”

She seemed about to protest that he shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach, but then studied his expression and said nothing.

Once they were sitting on the couch, both with drinks in front of them, she began gently, “What –“

“Do you remember Connie Herbert? I told you about her.”

Like all young lovers, they had exchanged their past amorous histories, in a playful sort of way, to prove just how different those days had been from their own early courtship.

She frowned. “The girl you went out with before the war?”

He nodded. “I found out – I only just found out that… she was Morse’s mother.”

He’d told Win what Morse had confided in him. As soon as he’d come home, she’d known that he’d heard something said and asked what was wrong, and telling her had relieved the burden on his soul when he’d only thought of Morse as his poor, parentless constable.

“Morse’s…” he watched her put the pieces together. Her eyes widened. “Is he –“

“He’s my son, Win. His aunt said so, and she has no reason to lie. And for what it’s worth, I think he found out a while ago and never told me.”

She reached out and took his hand. “Oh, Fred.”

He swallowed. “And now we might never –“

She squeezed his hand. “Of course he will. And you will have all the time in the world to figure things out” she said firmly. “I was already planning on trying to convince him to come to us for a while, to heal up when he’s released. Now I have an even better reason.”

Bless his Win. And bless her especially for saying when and not if. “But –“

“No buts, Fred Thursday. So I didn’t know you already had a son when I married you, but neither did you. And for what it’s worth, I think he’s a wonderful young man. Comes after his father.”

That did manage to make him smile.

Sam was still with the army, of course, but he still had to tell Joan as well. Since the robbery, she had been subdued, but ever since she had allowed to cry herself out on his shoulder and decided she had to stay and see this through she had been doing better.

“Morse is… my brother?” she asked slowly that night after Fred had finished.

He nodded miserably.

“Oh my God.” She closed her eyes in distress, and for a second he thought she was mad at him, but then she wailed “I flirted with him! I came on to my brother!”

“I think it’s pretty safe to say that you are both blameless when it comes to that, pet” he said.

“I know but still – it’s like propositioning Sam!!!”

At least her first reaction kept her occupied for a few minutes before the questions started coming.

“It was the bloody war” Fred explained. “She had no way of contacting me. And I didn’t really think that much of her – I was a little preoccupied with the Germans trying to shoot me. And when I came home, well –“

“You met Mum.” Suddenly, her eyes grow shiny. “Do you think if you had known –“

He can only shrug. If there’s one thing he has learned in his life, it’s that there’s no use crying over spilt milk. “Would have depended on what Constance would have wanted. I would have supported her and – and Morse, of course.”

And when she had died, they would have taken him in, he felt sure of that. Win wouldn’t have said no to taking care of his own flesh and blood. But all of that mattered little, now.

* * *

 

Fred had gotten the impression in the last few days that the doctors were slowly getting impatient with him showing up at all hours of day and night to look in at Morse.

And today, one of them ventures forth with, “I am sorry sir, but the visiting hours are over, we are only supposed to let family –“

The poor man had no idea why Win had insisted on accompanying him on his evening visit.

He quickly learned, however. She stepped forth with the expression Fred had come to associate with him being ill and still trying to sneak off into work.

“Listen to me, young man. Endeavour Morse happens to be my husband’s son, and it doesn’t matter that we only just learned about that – it makes him mine too, as if I had given  birth to him myself; and you will us let in to look after him!”

The “young man” must have been close to forty, but he immediately folded under Win’s motherly wrath. “Yes, ma’am. This way, please.”

As he turned his back, Thursday caught Win’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

* * *

 

“I’m sure he will wake up” Win predicted at dinner later that night. “He’s got a bit of colour back.”

Fred had thought so too, but hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up.

She seemed to sense what he was thinking and gently kissed him.

* * *

 

Neither Prudence Matthews nor Joyce Morse managed to get any free time to come to Oxford, although both called in at least once a day to learn of any changes in Morse’s condition, so Fred and the others were left to look after the lad.

In his more selfish moments, he thought that this was how it should have been from the beginning.

* * *

 

Joan had taken to visiting Morse during her lunch break. She reported that the nurses still seemed to look at her a little suspiciously, especially since they knew that according to his file his sister was called Joyce, not Joan; but with a determination she had no doubt inherited from her mother, nothing would keep her from the relative she hadn’t known she had only a week ago.

As for Fred –

Well, there was someone else who had to be notified. If for no other reason than to bring the records up to date.

He knocked on the door.

“Enter” Superintendent Bright called out.

* * *

 

His boss took another drag from his cigarette. “And there is no doubt?”

Fred shook his head. “I made sure of that, sir.”

He nodded. “I have to say, I am not as surprised as I probably should be. We have all wondered at some point or another…” He exhales. “How is he doing?”

“He seems to be getting better. It’s a slow progress.”

“But at least it’s progress” Bright said. His eyes unexpectedly softened. “I really hope he will recover, Inspector. It is terrible to lose a child.”

There was a story there, but it was not his place to ask. Not now. He nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, and Thursday?” Bright called out just as he reached the door. The smile on his face was genuine. “When Morse wakes up, let him know that, as his next of kin, you would like him to be more careful in the future.”

* * *

 

Something like this couldn’t be kept a secret for long, and soon, the whole station knew. It seemed just like Bright had said – instead of people being surprised, it felt like the missing piece of a puzzle had finally been found.

Strange certainly seemed to think so, for he didn’t allude to the news at all; and WPC Trewlove was quick to bring Fred a thoroughly needed cup of tea. He gave her a thankful smile.

* * *

 

“I said to Love, "It is not now as in old days when men adored thee and thy ways all else above; named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One who spread a heaven beneath the sun,"…”

Granted, Win didn’t have a lot of experience when it came to reading poetry; her children had vastly preferred nursery rhymes when they had been growing up; but she had found the book at Morse’ bedside table when she had gone and taken a look at his flat, and it seemed the right thing to do.

The first thing she noticed was that it was a mess, the second how empty it was. Devoid of any personal touches apart from his records and his books. The picture Fred had found of his mother was the only one in the whole flat.

To think that he must have known the truth and yet chose not to tell Fred. To know that his father worked by his side day after day, and yet not reach out. That poor boy. Undoubtedly, he did so out of some belief that the truth would hurt them.

She reached out and brushed a lock of hair of his forehead.

No. The truth didn’t hurt. It wasn’t Fred’s fault, or the lad’s, or Constance’s. Things just happened and now they would have to deal with them, that was all.

When it was time to go, she kissed his for heard like she used to do with the kiddies when they were small.

* * *

 

Fred, he realized when he heard the words “It’s the hospital, sir” from Strange’s mouth as he presented him with the phone, realized that, even though he had done his best to deal, he had done little prepare himself for the worst case scenario. He swallowed, then answered. “Yes?”

“Inspector Thursday? You will be pleased to hear that Constable woke up this morning.”

“He did?” he asked, his throat feeling dry.

“Yes. Just for a few minutes, but that was to be expected. We think your son will make a full recovery, now.”

It still felt strange to hear Morse referred to as such, but they would get used to it.

They had all the time in the world to do so, now.

He quickly shared the good news with the squad room and Superintendent Bright, then drove off with his boss’ blessings to collect Win. She’d want to hear it straight from him.

* * *

 

When they arrived at the hospital, the doctor seemed resigned to letting them both see Morse. “Not for long, though. He still has quite a way to go.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Even when he is released, he’s going to need looking after – “

“Don’t worry about that” Win said firmly, sweeping past him, and Fred suppressed a smile

* * *

 

Morse was just coming to again when they entered his room. He blinked, understandably confused, and needed a moment to focus on them. “Sir?”

Even after almost having died, even just having regained consciousness, he kept clinging to the façade he’d kept up for only God knew how long. According to his aunt, it must have been _months_ at least, if not years. Fred swallowed. There was nothing that he wanted more than finally get the truth out in the open, but Morse was in no condition for that talk. “Yes, Morse, it’s me and Win.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Thursday.”

It was in the middle of the afternoon, but they could hardly fault him for that. Win’s eyes were brimming with tears as she leaned close and gently took his temperature. “Hello, Morse. The doctors say you are going to be fine, now.”

“Joan?”

Finally, he called her by her first name. Fred knew that she’d been trying to get him to do that for a while. But then, she was his sister.

“She is perfectly fine, son” he quickly assured him. “She’s been to see you, you know.”

He visibly relaxed and closed his eyes again.

Win put her finger up to her mouth and Fred nodded.

Morse needed all the rest he could get.

* * *

 

He continued to grow more alert with each passing day. There were times when he knew exactly where he was and how it had happened, now; although sometimes he still slipped back into the darkness he had spent such a long time in.

At least it felt like a long time.

After a while, he began to wonder why every time he woke up, one of the Thursdays seemed to be in the room; certainly they didn’t come to see him every day? He wouldn’t have been surprised if the DI would check up on him sometime, but this seemed a bit excessive.

And then came the day when he was alert enough to find out.

He woke up feeling much more awake than he had until then. From the light coming in through the window, he assumed it was morning.

A middle-aged nurse bustled in. Somehow, he had the feeling that she was new, or rather, that she had not been making his round for long. He must have been more alert at times than he realized.

She beamed at him. “Mr. Morse! Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“Still weak” he admitted.

“That’s only to be expected. Right now, painless is the most we can do. The rest can come after.” She threw a glance at her clock. “Your parents should be here soon” she said brightly.

Both of his parents were dead. “My parents?” he asked, blinking slowly.

As he had hoped, she took it as him being a bit slow since he had just woken up properly. “Oh yes, your father, DI Thursday and his wonderful wife –“

No. It couldn’t be. Unless they had pretended to be his family in order to be able to visit him –

No. that was too unlikely. And too obvious a lie.

Unless –

Unless –

They knew it wasn’t one.

Morse grew dizzy.

* * *

 

When Win and Fred arrived at Morse’s room on a lovely Saturday morning, they heard retching sounds emanating from it and glanced at each other in alarm.

When they entered, Miss Beryl, who had just transferred to Oxford from Newcastle, was holding a bin under Morse’s chin and rubbing his back. He was mostly dry heaving since he hadn’t had a solid meal in a while. “There, there, Mr. Morse, it will be over soon –“

“What happened?” Fred asked, stepping up to the bed.

Morse’s head began to move upward, but then dropped again as if in shame. He frowned.

“I don’t know. I told him you were coming, and –“

In an instant, Fred had guessed the truth. Nervous reaction, like with the tiger. At a glance from him, Win understood that there was nothing wrong and quickly managed to shew Miss Beryl out, with the promise that they would call immediately should something happen. She then bustled off to find tea for them – a pretext of course. She wanted him and Morse to have some time alone.

Silence descended upon them. The words _why didn’t you tell me_ lay heavily on his tongue, but they sounded too accusatory, and he didn’t want Morse to think he was angry at him. Especially since he had saved Joanie.

“I’m sorry” Morse said, still not looking at him.

Sorry for what? Being his son? Being born? Existing? “It’s quite al –“

“I didn’t want you to know” he rushed out. “I didn’t want to… to disrupt your life sir, I promise. I never – I never would have –“

No, he never would have told him, Fred was sure of that. And he would never have known that he had another son, and one who was already almost as dear to him as the children he had raised, at that.

“You don’t have to – we don’t have to tell anyone” Morse continued. “It will be like it was before –“

Dear God, did the lad really think that having him for a son was such a terrible prospect?

He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Look at me. Morse.”

He still didn’t raise his head.

“ _Endeavour_.”

He did look up then, his eyes wide and scared, and Fred gently removed the bin from his hands. “There: all better now. Miss Beryl only arrived about a week ago. She didn’t know you were registered as my bagman before we found out.”

“Did Aunt Prudence tell you?” he asked, his gaze sliding away from him again.

Fred sighed. This would take a while. “She confirmed my suspicion when I asked. I was looking through your flat, trying to find out if there was someone we should call. I found a picture of Connie – of your mother.”

Morse flinched.

“Never knew she was called Constance.”

“She used to tell me she tried to “lose the name” when she was very young” he said softly.

She had been very young, too young to be saddled with the choice to either get married or lose her child. And Fred hadn’t been there to help her.

“Lad, if I had known –“

“Then what?” he asked suddenly, fixing him with his eyes. “You would not have married Mrs. Thursday? Sam and Joan would never have been born?”

“I wasn’t imagining anything as dramatic as that” he said evenly. Dear God, Morse had just properly woken up; he was not going to argue with him. “But I would have looked after you both. The rest would have been a joint decision.”

“She never spoke of you” Morse replied rather bluntly and Fred realized he had given into the childish impulse to try and hurt him. It was all too understandable.

Before he could answer, Win came in, carrying two tea cups. “There you go, Fred – sorry, Morse, but I asked and they don’t want you to take anything they haven’t served you personally yet.”

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. –“

“It’s Win. Under the circumstances, I won’t accept anything else.” And she busied herself with his bedcovers. “There. That’s better.” She then matter-of-factly pressed her hand against his forehead to check his temperature.

Morse clearly didn’t know what to do about this onslaught of maternal concern, and Fred decided he might as well let Win fuss over him a little. It might do the lad good.

Soon enough, the doctor came in and was obviously pleased with Morse’s progress. Naturally, he still wanted to know when he could leave (and probably when he could go back to work, but that wouldn’t happen for quite a while, if Fred had any say in that matter) and was told that he had to be patient.

“And even when we do release you, I’d be far more comfortable knowing someone was looking after you.”

“I can –“

“Come stay with us for a while” Win finished the sentence for him, and he clearly didn’t know once more how to say no to her.

The doctor looked indeed rather relieved.

* * *

They eventually had to leave Morse to rest – he was clearly still exhausted, for all the sleeping he had done.

“We’ll come back tomorrow” Win promised, and of course he tried to object.

“You really don’t have to –“

“Yes, we do” she said firmly and obviously surprised him with pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You just focus on getting better.”

If he had known Win could shut the lad up so efficiently while he was busy objecting to things, he could have dealt with him a lot easier over the years.

Then again, she played another different role than just the wife of his boss now. She was after all the wife of his _father_.

When the time came to say goodbye, it was rather obvious that Morse didn’t have a clue what to say.

Neither di Fred, for that matter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Morse.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. “Goodbye…” he began, then trailed off. Fred understood only too well. Continuing to call him sir under the circumstances would simply have felt too odd.

He finally left the word hang in the air without finishing his sentence, and he patted his shoulder before leaving.

“You just have to give it time, Fred” Win told him that night when they were having a drink in the living room. “He’s been pretending he never found out for quite a while. And so he’s been forcing himself to keep thinking of you as his boss.”

“I know” he sighed. The trouble was that he himself had grown so accustomed to the fact that Morse was more than just a subordinate for him that seeing him as his child had come so naturally to him it had taken much of his restraint not to hug the lad today.

Win squeezed his hand, apparently guessing what he was thinking. She smiled. “You’ll see.”

* * *

 

Despite Win’s assurances, he was nervous as he walked down the corridor to Morse’s room during his next lunch break.

It did help that he found Joan there however, happily chattering away as she would to Sam. “Hi Dad. I just welcomed Morse to the family.”

Morse didn’t know where to look.

“Wasn’t it time you returned to the bank?”

“Alright, alright Dad, I get it. I’ll leave you two alone.” She reached out and tousled Morse’s hair. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

She skipped out laughing at his expression.

“How are you doing?”

“Much better, sir” he replied and Fred sighed as he sat down on the chair Joan had just vacated.

“This isn’t going to go away if we ignore it, you know.”

Morse’s expression suggested that he still willing to try.

“Wouldn’t work now, anyway. I had to tell Bright, and you know something like this couldn’t be kept a secret.”

Morse looked stricken. “I didn’t think – I – “

“Tell me you’re sorry one more time and you’re grounded.”

His attempt at a joke didn’t have the desired effect. Morse simply looked away.

He sighed. “Morse.”

A small, primal part of him was angry and disappointed that he hadn’t even been able to give his first child his name, but he fought it down. This was not the time or the place for such considerations. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral. Now that Morse was definitely better, they might as well all get it out in the open.

Morse shrugged. “There was no reason to.” He still seemed to find it difficult to look him in the eyes.

“There was every reason to!”

“Like what?” He did look at him then, his expression determined.

“Morse, you’re my son. If Sam and Joan were out there and I didn’t know them before –“

“That’s hardly a fair comparison.” Morse paused for a moment, then added, “I don’t think I made either of my parents particularly happy to have had me.”

“You were just a child when your mother died. Hardly enough time to disappoint anyone, I’d say.” He also had quite a bit to say about Morse’s father, but decided now was not the right moment. Not when he’d just felt a pang at Morse talking about his _parents_.

This would have been much easier if they hadn’t started this on opposite ends. For Fred, everything had clicked into place the second he learned the truth; Morse had fought long and hard to forget about it, it seemed.

Morse smiled, but it was not a happy smile. “Still, I managed to annoy Dad enough that he decided his last words to me should be that I wasn’t his son.”

And then he began to cry. Of course, there were no big dramatic sobs, or even wailing; no, this was Morse they were talking about, so he turned his head and stayed quiet, but Fred still saw the tears running down his cheek.

He was at a loss. If this had been Joan or Sam, he would have pulled them into a hug or perhaps patted their shoulder; but with Morse…

“Sorry”. He sniffed, and suddenly, Fred understood that Morse senior had exactly been the kind of man who would forbid a child from crying because it annoyed him.

He was rather lucky he was already six foot under, otherwise he might have done something he would have regretted.

He quickly pulled out his handkerchief and gave it to Morse. He muttered his thanks and started to dry his cheeks. He looked younger than he was with his red eyes and pale cheeks, lying in a hospital bed.

A knock on the door soon brought Miss Beryl carrying a tray. “Ah, Mr. Thursday. I trust you found Mr. Morse better?” she asked brightly – perhaps a bit too brightly to make up for what had happened yesterday.

“Yes, thank you” he answered.

She brought the food and Morse couldn’t hide his obvious disapproval of the weak soup.

“It’s just for starters, lad. Once Win is allowed to bring you something, it’ll taste much better.”

“Oh yes, she already started quizzing me yesterday” Miss Beryl said. “I’m sure she’ll feed you up in no time.”

She smiled but Morse didn’t seem to share the sentiment.

Fred reminded himself that Win had told him to be patient. One step at a time.

For today, for what it was worth, Morse still hadn’t let go of his handkerchief.

* * *

 

That night, Morse found it difficult to fall sleep, but after having been unconscious for so long, he wouldn’t ask for something to render him so again.

He kept thinking of DI and Mrs. Thursday. And Joan.

They were doing their best to welcome him into the family, as he had always suspected they would; and yet…

He looked up at the ceiling. He had no right to show up out of the blue and change their whole family dynamic just because he happened to be related to DI Thursday.

After all, what did it matter that he was his father? They had met as adults, and until now, they had been nothing but a DI and his bagman.

He conveniently ignored the voice at the back of his mind that whispered that Thursday had meant more to him even before he had learned the truth.

If only DI Thursday had never seen Mum’s picture. He had been able to live with the knowledge, had even enjoyed it a bit, to know and see every day that his father was a good man.

* * *

 

Strange came to visit him the next day. He hadn’t seen him since he had woken up.

“Hello, matey. Heard you were doing better.”

He nodded, shy upon remembering that Thursday had told him the whole station knew.

And of course Jim Strange was not the man to ignore the elephant in the room. “Really” he shook his head, “The biggest surprise was that none of us suspected anything.”

“You had no reason to” he said, frowning.

Strange snorted. “Tell yourself that. The Old Man took you under his wing right from the start, I heard, and he certainly never defended anyone else the way he does you.”

Morse still didn’t think that qualified as ample grounds for declaring someone to be related by blood, but he decided not to argue.

He was still annoyingly weak.

Thankfully, Strange seemed to sense that he didn’t want to continue talking about it and instead filled the silence with station gossip.

* * *

 

“Three or four more days, the nurse said, before I can bring the poor boy something proper to eat. I don’t even want to imagine what he gets there.”

“It didn’t look particularly appetizing” Fred said at the breakfast table.

“A few weeks on your food, Mum, and he’ll have put on at least a stone” Joan teased her lightly.

“You might laugh, but I think it would actually do him good.”

Fred didn’t think there were many women who would have reacted as matter-of-factly upon finding out that their husband had fathered another child. But trust her to immediately start mothering the lad like he was her own.

He’d told her about what Morse had said concerning the disappointment he’d caused his parents. She’d denied it quite as indignantly as Fred himself would have done, if he’d followed his first impulse.

“We can put him in Sam’s room. I’m sure he won’t have anything against it.”

“I’ll write him a letter, it’s my turn anyway” Joan said. “Morse looked completely flabbergasted when I visited him yesterday, though.”

“He’s not used to your chattering, pet” Fred said and repeated what Win had told him. “give him time.”

Not that he was doing such a wonderful job himself.

It was a busy day at the station, and it quickly became clear that he wouldn’t be able to get away until the evening, so he rang Win. She immediately promised to give his excuses to Morse.

* * *

 

Today, instead of Joan, it was Mrs. – it was Win who came to visit him during lunch time, beaming and friendly as always. “No food yet I am afraid, but in a few days’ time.”

“That’s really not necess –“

 “Fred sends his regrets; he’s got a lot of work to do, but he hopes he’ll get away in time to visit you in the evening” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“He really doesn’t have to if it’s inconvenient.”

“Oh, it’s never inconvenient to visit you!”

At least he felt certain she would have told him the same if she hadn’t known he was more than just her husband’s constable.

“Fred tells me everyone at the station is glad to hear you’re doing better.”

And probably happy they got some new gossip out of it, Morse thought rather uncharitably. “Yes. Jim Strange came by.”

“You gave us quite a fright” she said gently. “Even before we knew.”

He hoped that was all, but then she continued, “Fred told me you didn’t want us to know.”

“I judged it easier for everyone.”

“Even for you?”

The truth was that he couldn’t answer that question.

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “You’ll see, it’ll all work out fine. We just have to get used to it, that’s all”.

It was a rather big thing to get used to, if you asked him.

* * *

 

Two days later, Mrs. – Win was finally allowed to bring him food and was soon busy feeding him up, despite his repeated assurances that he wasn’t that hungry.

“Sorry, son” was all DI Thursday said when he cautiously tried to approach the subject with him, “I don’t think you’ll be able to escape that.”

Morse realized there was nothing he could do at the moment but focus on getting better and allow Win to fuss over him while he was still feeling rather weak.

The doctors, at least, were pleased with his progress. It seemed that he was making up the time he’d taken to wake up by rapidly gaining his strength back. Eventually, he was even allowed out of a bed for a while each day, although it was made clear that he was still supposed to rest a lot.

* * *

 

Once again, Fred had managed to free himself during his lunch to go visit Morse – although he suspected that Strange, Trewlove and the others were doing their best to ensure he had enough time every day to visit his oldest.

His first reaction when he opened the door to Morse’s room and saw that the bed was empty was an almost overwhelming dread; in the next moment, he shook his head at himself. Of course the lad was out and about now that he could move. Morse had never been one to stay still for long.

“Dad!” He turned to find Joan hurrying towards him, who apparently had also decided to visit again. “I was wondering if you’d show up… come on, you need to see this!”

“This” turned out to be a room three doors down. Joan gently opened the door and held a finger to her lips.

“The Rat danced up and down in the road, simply transported with passion. ‘You villains!’ he shouted, shaking both fists, ‘You scoundrels, you highwaymen, you—you—roadhogs!—I’ll have the law of you! I’ll report you! I’ll take you through all the Courts!’ His home-sickness had quite slipped away from him, and for the moment he was the skipper of the canary-coloured vessel driven on a shoal by the reckless jockeying of rival mariners, and he was trying to recollect all the fine and biting things he used to say to masters of steam-launches when their wash, as they drove too near the bank, used to flood his parlour-carpet at home.”

Morse was reading to a little boy who was lying in his bed, his eyes fixed on him. He seems utterly enchanted with the story – small wonder, since Morse had apparently taken it on himself to do the appropriate voices, too.

“A nurse told me where to find him” Joan whispered. “I was worried.”

Fred nodded, listening. _The Wind in the Willows_. The kiddies had loved the book, growing up. He couldn’t say how often he had read it to them.

Must be genetic, he thought with a smile.

Joan’s handbag brushed against the door frame and the sound made Morse look up from his book. He blushed and immediately closed it. “I’m sorry, Archie, it seems I have been reading for longer than I should have…”

When the boy started to protest, he promised him he would be coming by tomorrow to continue, and then he quickly bid him goodbye.

“I didn’t know you were coming, otherwise I would have –“ he began as they walked back to his room.

“It’s quite alright.” Really, between this and how apologetic he had been for being born in the first place, Fred was starting to wonder if Morse senior had made him feel sorry for _breathing_.

“Archie seemed to like it” Joan chimed in and Fred shot her a grateful look. Always ready to defuse a difficult situation, their Joan.

“He’s a very nice boy. His parents live at the other end of town, and they both work, so they can’t come visit him as often and for as long as they want.”

Of course Morse would find the only lonely boy in the hospital who needed someone to read to him, Fred thought proudly.

“Oh, and I have got news!” Joan said happily as Morse settled back into bed on Fred’s insistence (“They said you could get out of bed for a while, Morse, not hours at a time”). “Sam answered my letter!”

Morse stiffened.

“Oh, don’t be like that, I said it’s good news!” She frowned down at the letter she’d fished from, her handbag. “Well, for you. He writes that he always wanted a big brother. Is that what sibling loyalty has come to?”

“I don’t think he means it as an insult to you, Mi –“ Joan levelled a glare on him that she had definitely inherited from Win “Joan.”

“That’s better. You can say Joanie too, if you like.”

Morse looked like she’d just asked him to say something blasphemous. Or something dirty about Wagner.

“And of course you can have Sam’s room. He writes he expects it to be filled with records and crosswords puzzles when he next gets home.”

Best case scenario, really. He’d rather not have Morse return to his flat any time soon, especially when he was still paying off his – Morse senior’s bills and wouldn’t be able to get a nicer place for quite a while.

“I – “ Morse began, then swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything” Fred replies. “That’s family for you.”

Morse swallowed again, then nodded.

Another baby step in the right direction, if you asked Fred.

* * *

 

Morse became impatient to leave the hospital, although Fred was rather certain that had less to do with him staying with them and more with his reluctance to be cooped up, and only sorry to leave Archie behind. At least he was doing better.

Win spent the day before Morse was coming home making sure Sam’s room was airy and comfortable. When Fred returned home from work, he realized she’d even brought over Morse’s record player and a few of his clothes, although he probably wouldn’t need them all that much in the beginning.

Belatedly, he realized he had never given Morse his keys back. But then, the lad hadn’t asked.

Weighing the options, he decided that he must have simply forgotten, although there was something pleasing in imagining he simply trusted them enough to keep them safe without question.

“And make sure he’s well-bundled up” Win told him on the day he was going to pick him up. “I don’t want him to feel cold.”

“He’ll be in the car, love, and then here.”

“Still.”

* * *

 

Fred signed out a car at the end of the day. Morse was already waiting for him when he showed up, clearly intent on getting out of his room.

The doctor couldn’t let him go without giving him instructions, of course – instructions Fred vowed to himself to make sure he would keep. Otherwise, knowing Morse, he’d probably end up back at the station bent over a file within days.

“Two more weeks of bedrest” Morse grumbled as they slowly made their way to the car.

“He said you could get up a bit each day.”

“Same thing.”

At least he had stopped trying to call him sir, even if he was moping because he couldn’t yet go back to work and needed looking after.

They were quiet during the drive, still unsure how to talk to one another. If Morse had still been nothing but his bagman, Fred would probably have found the words to tell him how bloody glad he was that he was going to be alright; now, however…

They hadn’t touched since the day Morse had properly woken up, either. Win and Joan apparently didn’t feel any reluctance to do so and  Morse was smothered in hugs the second he stepped through the door. “Glad to see you up and about”.

“Thank you”.

Win was beaming. “Your room is ready.”

“Actually I was told that I could –“

“You just arrived! I really think you should have dinner in bed, tonight at least.”

Fred remembered that tone of voice very well, from when the children had been small. Morse apparently realized that resistance was futile and chose not to fight. It might also have had to do with the fact that, despite his insistence that he was doing fine enough to get up in the morning, was clearly exhausted by the move.

Oh well. Nothing a plate of Win’s cooking and a good night’s rest wouldn’t fix.

Once Win had settled Morse in – and heaped more food on his tray than Fred thought the lad usually consumed in a month – they had dinner.

“He didn’t flinch anymore when I hugged him” Joan said. “That’s progress.”

Sometimes, she really did sound remarkably like her mother. “He was quiet on the way here.”

“Oh Fred. It can’t be easy for him.” Win huffed. “And that… man who raised him. Imagine telling someone you saw grow up before your very eyes that they are not your child as the last thing you do on this earth.”

“He must have been a mean…” when Joan saw Fred’s expression, she ended with, “man. But at least Morse is here with us now.”

Yes, that he was, Fred thought.

The problem was where they would go from here.

* * *

 

Morse slept through the night and was still out cold when Fred checked up on him the next morning. Just as well. The more rest he got, the sooner he’d get well.

He apparently seemed to have stirred while he put the kettle on because he could hear Win kindly but firmly telling Morse to get back into bed after he’d been in the bathroom.

“He was actually going to get dressed” she said instead of good morning when she entered. “I told him that’s not what resting is.”

“I am sure he was thrilled.”

“Oh, you know him. He was perfectly polite, if a bit wary of being told what he has to do.”

Yes, that had never been Morse’s forte, Thursday would readily admit that.

When Strange came to pick him up, he politely asked if he might see Morse.

* * *

 

Jim would have liked to say that he only wanted to see how Morse was, but in truth, he was curious about how he was settling in as well. There was little surprise in the Old Man acting like he had before; after all, Morse had always been like a son to him in a way; but how was he dealing with all of this? Morse was an enigma on a good day, he had no idea how he had coped with being told his father wasn’t his father and then finding out that his boss was.

He knocked and entered.

Morse was sitting up in bed, reading. “Hello, Strange.”

“Morse. How are you?”

“Much better” he put the book away. Really, maybe it had been the hospital light, but despite only arriving yesterday, there was already some colour back on his cheeks.

“You look it too, matey. And I’m very glad for it.”

“Thank you.”

After a pause, Strange asked, “And the rest?”

“What do you mean?”

He’d never been good at beating around the bush, and Morse wouldn’t have liked it if he did either, son he waved a hand in the air. “You know…”

“Oh, you mean suddenly having a new family?”

Morse had always been blunt when he wanted to be. “Yes. Can’t be easy, and with you injured like that –“

Morse shrugged, then winced. “They have all been very kind to me.”

It was apparently all he was ready to say.

Strange hesitated, then decided to risk it. After all, when the Old Man was happy it was much easier to work at the station, and it would do Morse no harm to get lucky for once, either. “Look, matey, I’m not saying this is going to be easy, but you could have had it much worse. When push comes to shove, there are way worse men that could have turned out to be your father.”

Morse smiled weakly. “I have to agree with you there. Including the one I thought was my real one.”

Jim and his parents had always been close, so he didn’t know what to say. But… he didn’t know Mrs. Thursday all that well, and yet he couldn’t help but think that a few days or weeks under her care would not only improve Morse’s health, but his mood as well. “See? It will be alright, matey. You just focus on getting better.”

* * *

 

The Old Man was lost in thought as they drove to the station for a few minutes, then he began, “Sergeant, I would never expect you to be – indiscreet, but how do you think he is doing?”

No need to clarify who _he_ was. And small wonder he was worried. Morse was bottled up at the best of times; Strange had no idea how he was supposed to talk to the man who had until recently only been his boss and had turned out to be his father without considerable embarrassment. “I think he is doing better, sir.”

“Yes, when it comes to his injuries…” Thursday muttered, then shook his head. “Forget it. It’s unfair to drag you into all of this.”

After a few moment’s pause, Strange carefully said, “For what it’s worth… I think it will all end well. He’s always been very – loyal to you, Inspector.”

Thursday didn’t answer, but from the corner of his eye, Strange saw him smile.

* * *

 

Soon after she was done washing up the breakfast dishes and Joan had come back down from Morse’s room to go to work, Win made her grocery list. Then she paid Morse a visit. “I’m about to go to the stores, dear, do you need anything?”

He looked up from his book and blinked. “Oh no, M – Win, you have already done too much…”

“Nonsense. You’re one of us now.” She automatically straightened the bedclothes. “I am glad to see you’re settling in so well.”

“You really don’t have to change your routine around for me” he tried, “It’s not necessary to –“

“Oh Morse, I always go shopping rather early when not that many people are about. And really, I’m used to cooking more – Sam always had a healthy appetite.” She smiled brightly. “And the doctor said you should put on a little weight…”

Morse gave her a look not unlike those she had been used to receive when her children went through puberty and she suppressed a smile. They would get there eventually. It would just take time.

* * *

 

On the way to the store, she met Mrs. Bellows from two doors down, the neighbourhood gossip. Oh dear. The look on her face clearly proved that she had questions and wouldn’t be denied the answers she thought she deserved. “Mrs. Thursday!”

“Good morning”. Fred always said she was too polite, but he wouldn’t be the one who would inevitably run into her again after having snubbed her.

“Good Morning. I was just wondering… I think I saw your husband’s constable brought into your house last night, and he looked so ill I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need any help…”

Of course that was what she wanted her to believe. Win, however, stayed as pleasant as possible. “Oh yes. Morse was shot a couple of weeks ago. He is doing much better, though. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not leave him alone in the house for too long –“

And she would have hurried past her if Mrs. Bellows hadn’t continued to fish for information with, “He is a very lucky young man that he can just spend time at his boss’ house until he gets better…”

And Win couldn’t help herself. They hadn’t spoken yet about keeping everything that was going on a secret – and in fact there was every reason to think telling her neighbour meant it wouldn’t be one any longer – but Morse certainly didn’t deserve to be spoken od in that lecherous tone, and she simply answered casually over her shoulder, “Oh, we recently found out that he’s Fred’s son. Of course we had to take him in until he’s all healed up.”

She was rather certain she would be laughing about her neighbour’s face for years to come.

* * *

 

Morse could have got up after Mrs. Thursday left, but decided it wasn’t worth it just to prove that he could. Granted, he did leave the bed for a minute to put a record on, but that was it.

It was all rather… confusing. If he had veer contemplated telling DI Thursday the truth – which he had never allowed himself to do – he would have expected things to change between them, and in a way, they had.

The problem was that at the same time, so very little had changed. The DI mostly still treated him the way he always had, although he did tend to show his concern for his health more openly, these days. It was almost as if – yes, it truly was as if he had always considered Morse something like a son, but why would he have done that?

He could rally have used a drink. Pity it wasn’t allowed.

* * *

 

Whether he knew he’d given himself away or not, Win had realized with how much relish Morse had devoured his marmalade this morning, so she concluded he must have something of a sweet tooth. She decided to indulge him a little. The poor lad surely had had little opportunity to do that recently, with paying off Morse’s senior (she would never call him his father again, not even in her head) bills and working such long hours. Fred had told her it seemed to be getting worse and worse – that Morse hardly ever went home if he didn’t have to; and after seeing his flat, she rather had to agree.

Oh well. They could deal with all of that, one thing at a time.

She didn’t hurry because she knew Morse would only have felt guilty if she did, but she didn’t dawdle, either. When she arrived home, she heard the music floating down from upstairs and smiled. It had been a good idea to bring his record player.,

She was soon at his door again. “Morse, I am making tea. Do you want a cup?”

“If it’s not too much _”

“It’s no trouble at all” she quickly assured him. He just had to get used to being part of a family again.

* * *

 

Fred once more resisted the urge to call home and ask how they were getting on. He’d only arrived at work two hours ago, for God’s sake.

Still – one of his children had been injured. He would have felt just as worried if it had been Sam or Joan, but with the addition that he would have had Morse at the station to look after him while never telling him the truth.

It was the one thing that still stung whenever he thought about it. He understood that Morse had had his reasons, wrong as they may have been, but still – if he had found out first, of course he would have told him.

Then again, he wouldn’t have had to worry about causing problems for Morse, aside from some embarrassment the lad might have gone through. In a way, it was a noble thought – hiding something that he thought might have hurt Win; and Morse was nothing if not too noble for his own good, sometimes.

Ah well. Let Win mother him a bit and see what would come of it. He’d never been able to say no to his wife, and considering she’d be the one to look after him for most of the day, that was a very good thing. At least Fred could be certain he would obey his doctor’s orders for once.

“Inspector?” He looked up from the file he’d not been paying much attention to anyway to find Doctor DeBryn.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering how Constable Morse was doing.”

He smiled.

* * *

 

Morse was reading again when she brought him his tea. “Here, dear.”

“Thank you” he said politely. Really, having cared for the kiddies when they were ill, she decided that Morse was an easy patient, although she couldn’t help but think that Fred might disagree. “Now, if you need anything, just call”.

He nodded, although he probably wouldn’t. He’d learn, though.

She hummed along the music coming from Morse’s room as she bustled around downstairs.

Fred called around lunch time, and she was quick to reassure him that all was going well. “You don’t have to worry, dear. He’s settling in just fine.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you” he sighed.

She smiled. “You married me so we don’t have to find out.”

* * *

 

Morse couldn’t deny that he was feeling better after having taken it easy all day; in fact, he did apparently look well enough that Win allowed him out of bed for dinner.

DI Thursday beamed when he found him setting the table. “Morse! How are you?”

“Much better –“ it was still difficult not to end his sentences with “sir” when speaking to him. “Thank you: as you can see, Win let me out of bed.”

“That’s how I know it’s actually true. Otherwise I’d have carted you off back to your room myself.” He squeezed his shoulder, letting him know that he’d just been good-naturedly teasing him, and slipped away to hang up his coat and hat.

* * *

 

Morse, to his frustration and Joan’s infinite amusement, soon found that now he was staying at the Thursdays’ home and one of the family, for better or worse, the hat stand rule applies as much to him as it ever did to the other Thursdays. “But –“

“No buts, Morse. You are supposed to rest, not to solve crimes in your head.”

He looked down at his plate, and Joan laughed. “Dear God, you just managed to look grumpier than Sam ever did during his worst temper tantrums, and that’s something.”

“I am well enough to –“

“Here, have another dumpling, dear” Win interrupted him brightly and DI Thursday watched, clearly amused, as he was once again struck silent by Mrs. Thursday’s insistence on looking after him.

At least he wasn’t immediately sent to bed after dinner.

The downside to this was that DI Thursday joined him in the living room where he was listening to _Turandot_ , Joan and Win apparently careful to let them have some time for themselves.

He poured himself a glass of brandy but immediately warned him, “Don’t even think about it.”

Morse wondered if he’d be even more insistent he should drink less now that he knew who he was. Probably.

“So, Win tells me you stayed in bed as you were told to today” he said, settling down on the sofa next to him.

Morse shot him a look.

“Now, lad, I know how you can be, and this is the best thing for you right now.”

“I know” he sighed. “I just want to be mobile again as soon as possible.”

It had occurred to him that, taken some careful manoeuvring, he might be out of the house soon enough; and maybe, just maybe, things would settle down and grow normal again –

“You will, don’t worry. Looking forward to it, really. I can always use some help with the garden.”

Then again, maybe not.

“Look, Morse” DI Thursday said suddenly, “I know you probably won’t believe me, but I am glad we found out.”

That was not something he had been expecting to hear.

“You already meant a lot to me, and now that I know… well, it’s like something Superintendent Bright said when I told him – it just makes sense. I really hope you will eventually be comfortable with this to acknowledge it openly, but if you don’t… that’s fine, too.”

He had the distinct feeling that it wouldn’t be, but that DI Thursday was ready to pretend.

“It’s not that I am not… I – I’d rather have…” he broke off, unsure how to express that he would much rather have had DI Thursday as his father from the beginning rather than the man who raised him. It sounded terribly like ingratitude, and his mother had taught him not to be ungrateful.

DI Thursday reached out and patted his shoulder again, apparently guessing what he was about to say. “It’s alright. Take your time.”

He took a deep breath. “I just – I – yes, that’s probably for the best.” For, if they ever were to acknowledge their status as father and son publicly – or at least even more publicly than they already had, meaning it going beyond then station – they would both have to be ready for it.

But for now, Morse was content to listen to his music with DI Thursday sipping his drink next to him.

* * *

 

Time passed. After a few more days of Win’s pampering, Morse had somewhat resigned himself to the fact that he would never be just her husband’s bagman in her eyes; and Joan was by now teasing him as if he truly were Sam.

After the first week, he was allowed to get up for several hours every day, and he usually spent them trying to convince Win that he was well enough to help her with her housework. That discussion usually ended with him being confined to standing in front of the sink and drying plates, followed by him being firmly told to “sit down and relax now” but it was better than nothing.

The hat stand rule was firmly kept and it was slowly driving him insane. Thankfully, the others would drop in now and then, and he noticed that Win usually made herself scarce when they did, so that she wouldn’t have to listen to it being broken.

“Things have been rather slow, lately” Strange told him. “Really, that’s probably for the best.”

“We just arrested a fraudster” Trewlove was more forthcoming, “Could have used your knowledge of Milton, though. He had an entire code in his diaries based around _Paradise Lost_.”

“What makes you think I know so much about Milton?”

The look she gave him was decidedly unimpressed.

Doctor DeBryn went into the most details, but there hadn’t been any suspicious deaths in a while. Not that he would have been allowed to investigate if they had. His – DI Thursday was strict in that regard.

Still, after two weeks in the Thursdays’ home, Morse woke up with the startling realization that he was growing used to being cared for.

Not so long ago, it had seemed a foreign concept. Even when he had learned the truth, he would never have expected that the Thursdays would so easily accept them amongst themselves.

Win was busy learning everything there was about his favourite foods, Joan spent quite a bit of time with him outside work, apparently even foregoing hanging out with her friends so she could get to know him better. And –

Well –

He had the feeling he and DI Thursday were growing closer too, even if they both didn’t quite know how to act around one another, still.

* * *

 

And there were… other things, too.

“So there’s that really nice girl that just started working at the bank” she began one evening during dinner. She had decided to “take the bull by the horns” and stay there.

“No” was his first answer, much to Win’s and – DI Thursday’s amusement.

“You don’t even know what I wanted to say! She mentioned the other day she liked going to see plays –“

“Joan –“

“And she’s really pretty –“

“Joan –“

“And she is pretty nice, too, patient as well, and I know from experience –“

“ _Joanie_!”

To his surprise, she only answered with a bright smile that was mirrored on her parents’ faces.

It was only then that he realizes what he had called her and blushed scarlet, choosing to focus on his dinner.

* * *

 

Since he was finally allowed to clear the table now, he did so with Win after dinner, unsure whether he should address it or not.

She saved him the trouble by beginning to talk about it herself. “She’s been waiting for this for a while, you know. I think she misses not being called Joanie more; Sam does it all the time. That reminds me, you should start writing him letters, too. Get to know him better.”

Morse highly doubted that he had ever managed to make anyone get to know him, but still.

* * *

 

The first few letters that went from Morse to Sam and back were… not exactly awkward, but a little bit stilted. There was only so much you could tell someone you had only ever met briefly through writing, even if they had always got along well.

Joan hadn’t lied when she’d said he was happy top have an older brother. He poured forth stories of the places he saw and the people he met, confident that it would all be of interest to Morse, and it was – it felt strangely touching.

Morse meanwhile let him know how he was doing and eventually grew comfortable enough to make a slight complaint about not being let out more – which resulted in Win taking him grocery shopping with her after the next round of letters had arrived. “You could have just said.”

“I didn’t want to appear ungrateful” he said, wincing slightly. He might have grown up with Joyce once he had learned she had existed, but it hadn’t prepared him for the reality of having siblings closer to your age.

“That’s the last thing that would cross my mind. It can’t be easy, not to eb able to do the things you usually do.”

Those things would include drinking too much and feeling rather lonely, so he didn’t quite know what to say.

She seemed to sense that he didn’t want to talk about it, so moved on. “You already look much better. A few more days, and I think we’ll actually have you up to a proper weight.”

That he would probably end up losing again the second he moved back to his flat, if he was being honest.

Or maybe not, because she continued with, “I’ll make sure you have a sandwich waiting for you every morning when you go back to work.”

“You really –“

“Morse, don’t you know by now how this ends?”

He had to agree with her there.

They were greeted by a woman he remembered vaguely having seen before, but it wasn’t difficult to realize that Win was far from happy to see her by the tone of her voice as she introduced her as “Mrs. Bellows from Number twelve.”

“Mrs. Thursday! And this must be the prodigal son” she said, and Morse blinked. She actually thought this was a decent way of opening a conversation? But before he could react, she continued, “He doesn’t look much like your husband.”

“He comes after his mother” Win answered casually, “Quite a beauty, from what Fred told me. So really, he traded down.”

“Win!” he exclaimed, rather shocked.

“Ah, he is so polite” she told the woman, who she had effectively shocked into silence. “Now, excuse us, he really shouldn’t be on his feet that long yet. Come on, Morse.”

He only realized she’d herded him away like she would one of her own children when they were an aisle away. “What –“ he began, the stopped.

“Oh, Morse, she’s always been like that. Don’t worry.”

But he was already thinking about someone else. “He – he told you about Mum?” he said quietly.

“Yes. You know, when we were just starting to date… you tell each other things like that, then. But he always had nice things to say about her. Not that I would have doubted that, her being your mother.”

“I think she would have liked you” he admitted.

She beamed. “Really?”

He nodded because his throat felt suddenly tight. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Come on, let’s get some more marmalade.”

* * *

 

Morse was gaining strength every day, and he couldn’t deny that this was at least partly due to being so well looked after, if he had been on his own, he wouldn’t have had nearly as many home-cooked meals or taken breaks during the few chores that Win allowed him to do.

“Say, Morse, would you be up for a dinner guest tomorrow night?” DI Thursday asked one day. As if he actually had something to say about who the Thursdays invited, as if this was his home.

“Yes” he answered, surprised at not having to fight the urge to add” Sir.”

He beamed. “Met my old Sergeant from the war. He’s only in Oxford for a few days.” Some sort of unspoken communication seemed to pass between him and Win because he added, “Don’t worry about him overstaying his welcome. I told him my oldest had been injured on the job and was still recovering.”

 _My oldest_. As if it were the easiest thing in the world. Morse decided the best thing was to keep on eating.

* * *

 

Sergeant Williams proved to be a jovial if somewhat chatty man who had a good time discussing old wartime stories with DI Thursday and ask the occasionally question.

“So you work for the police too, I hear, Morse.” He nodded.

“Family business, aye?”

“Not quite. Me and Sam didn’t go to work for the police” Joan pointed out.

“Thank God for that, I already worry enough about Fred and Morse!” Win exclaimed.

Morse could have pointed out that until now they had at least survived everything life had thrown at them, but considering that they had both ended up with bullets in their chest at one point, he doubted it would have reassured her.

* * *

 

It happened when Williams was bidding them goodbye. In the somewhat absent-minded way of his that kept Fred thinking he’d get himself killed during the war now and then, he mused “Must be funny to have two Thursdays at the station” right before leaving.

When Fred had closed the door behind him, he turned around to find Morse with his hand pressed against his mouth. Fearing the lad was upset, he began, “What –“

Then he realized Morse was rather trying to suppress his laughter. A moment later, he burst out, “He thought my first name is Morse!”

Joan joined in on his laughter. “And I thought Endeavour was bad. What did he think? That Mum and Dad were stumped for names and then their gaze fell upon a Morse code manual?”

It was at this point that Fred and Win had to laugh too.

In his heart of hearts, he couldn’t deny that he was relieved.

Morse didn’t seem the slightest bit upset by someone calling him a Thursday.

* * *

 

One Saturday morning – Win had let him sleep in – Fred came downstairs to hear Morse and Joan bickering. “No, that way – you have to hold it still.”

“I am holding it still!”

“But it’s –“

“Brothers!”

He found them trying to hang up a painting that Aunt Reenie had sent over a few days before and decided to leave them to it.

“Have they been trying for long?” he asked Win in the kitchen.

“About ten minutes. Turns out Morse can be a perfectionist, and you know Joan prefers to be easy-going when it comes to things like this.”

_“Endeavour!”_

“Joanie!”

They smiled at one another.

* * *

 

Eventually, Prudence Matthews managed to get enough free time to visit her nephew as she had promised. It was a welcome break from Morse insisting that he was well enough to return to work now, although he doubted it would retain him for long.

The truth was that he would rather not have had Morse returning to his dreary little flat at all, but there was little he could do about it. He couldn’t very well lock the lad in.

Prudence, with the same bluntness that had led to her immediately asking Fred if he was Morse’s father, observed immediately after she had drawn him into a hug, “You look much better.”

“I was unconscious in the hospital when you saw me last –“

“I didn’t mean that” she stated simply. She then proceeded to thank both Win and Fred profusely, even though they assured her it wasn’t necessary.

* * *

 

Fred didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation, he just happened to pass by the living room when he suddenly herd, “Have you told Joyce yet?”

Morse’s little sister – for such she would continue to be, Fred knew, just like Morse senior would always be the dad who raised him – was a tense subject. They had talked to each other on the phone a few times, and he’d told her that she didn’t need to come to Oxford since he was “well taken care of”; but Fred suspected that he simply didn’t know how to tell her and would rather not have to at all.

A pause. Then, “No. I highly suspect the second she knows, Gwen will tell her to let me drop like a hot potato, so…”

Fred’s hands baled into fists. This woman had a lot to answer for.

“I am sure Joyce wouldn’t do that. She thinks the world of you, always has.”

“Maybe I want to keep it that way.” He sounded so young then, and so lost, and Fred wished he could comfort him.

“Families don’t simply cease to exist because of biological facts, and neither are they created at the drop of a head. I mean, you don’t really think of DI Thursday as your father, do you?”

Fred knew he should have left, but he couldn’t. He waited for an answer that never came.

Then, she breathed. “Oh.” After a pause she added, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think he already thought of you as something like a son, so it probably didn’t make that much of a difference. Should have thought of that.”

Despite knowing fully well that it hadn’t been the right thing to do, Fred felt a warm surge swell in his chest. Morse hadn’t said that he didn’t think of him as his father.

* * *

Shortly after Prudence’s (“I insist on it, Fred, we are family after all”) visit the doctor declared Morse fit for duty, and a compromise was struck. He would indeed go back to work but stay their guest for a while longer.

They all pretended it was about his health, although they had remarkably quickly grown used to living under the same roof.

Looking at Joan, it was almost impossible to believe that she’d ever been involved in a bank robbery, and Morse…

Well, Morse seemed to be doing better and better, and not just health-wise. He’d developed a knack for making mischievous comments, with the banter between him and Joan going on for as long as they wished, and he often helped Win with the housework.

Granted, they had yet to speak of – well – his and Fred’s relationship, but they had definitely made progress.

* * *

 

When the day came – Fred had checked out the car the night before so they could take Joan with them – Win made them both sandwiches. Morse didn’t even try to protest anymore.

She kissed Fred and hugged Morse. “And you both stay safe, you hear me? No more bullets in the chest.”

“I’ll do my best, Win.”

“That’s about as much as I can expect of you two” she sighed, but she was smiling.

As soon as he heard they had arrived, Max DeBryn came into the squad room to greet them. “Morse.” He raised an eyebrow. “How are you?”

“I’m feeling well, Doctor.”

“I can see that, I meant the tests in the hospital.”

“Fit for duty, but you knew that.”

He nodded. “Still, never hurts to make sure.”

During lunch break, Strange noticed their matching sandwiches, but didn’t say anything.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Superintendent Bright called Fred into his office. “How is he doing? I recall there were some issues the last time he was shot.”

If you could call jumping at his own shadow and self-medicating with alcohol issues. “He says he’s fine, sir, and he appears to be doing well.”

“Good, good. And what about –“ he gestured with his cigarette and Fred sat down.

“I like to think we’ve found a balance, sir. Granted, it will have to be seen how he handle a case, but other than that…”

Bright nodded. “Well, he has been in the building for a few hours and has not yet managed to get injured again, so that is something.”

“I don’t think Win would allow him to, sir.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect so” he mused. “Still, it was all a bit much, even for someone like him. Finding his real father, taking a bullet for his sister – I think I’ll try and see if there isn’t something we can do about advancing him to sergeant faster. I’d say he deserves it.”

* * *

 

The call came in towards four pm. A male body at one of the colleges; he’d been found in a dorm room, but apparently hadn’t been one of the students there.

Morse drove.

“What would someone who doesn’t study do in a dorm room anyway?” Strange asked.

“You’d be surprised at how many people find it funny to sneak others who have no business being there into college. It’s like a game between the students and the porters” Morse shrugged.

“Did you ever do that?”

“What, me and break the rules?” he deadpanned, surprising Strange into laughter. Fred was reminded of something Win had told him only yesterday – that Morse seemed merrier than he had been before; and it appeared his wife had once again been right.

James McHardy had indeed been found in the rooms of his close friend Kevin Taylor, with whom he had been staying for a few days “until he got back on his feet.” There was hardly anything suspicious about someone offering a bed to a friend, and Fred decided that he wasn’t very high up on his list of suspects, if he was on there at all.

Fred and Morse soon made their way to the East of town, where McHardy’s family lived.

The first thing they learned was that they were roman Catholics, not simply because the father told them immediately, but also because of the crucifixes on seemingly every wall of the house and the bible on the table of the living room.

Mr. McHardy took the news a little too well, for Fred’s liking. “I always knew he would come to know good.”

Fred glanced at Mrs. McHardy, who was looking down on her folded hands. She hadn’t uttered a sound when she learned her oldest son was dead.

“And why was that, Mr. McHardy?” Morse asked; his voice sounded tense.

He cleared his throat and stated, “Deuteronomy 21:18-21”.

Before he could say anything more, Morse quietly replied, “If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives, and they shall say to the elders of his city, ‘This our son is stubborn and rebellious; he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones. So you shall purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel shall hear, and fear.”

The tone of his voice made it rather clear that it wasn’t the first time he had heard the verse being quoted at him, and something in Fred bristled as he imagined Morse senior doing just that to a small boy still grieving his mother.

“Exactly.” McHardy seemed suitably impressed with his Bible knowledge, at least.

“So he… disobeyed you?”

“I am a carpenter, like my father and grandfather and great-grandfather before me. Good, honest work. I wanted James to follow in my footsteps. And he knew that. Proverbs 22:6.”

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Morse’s voice had taken on a flat, automatic quality.

“Yes, Constable. But he wouldn’t listen. He went on and on how he wanted to go to college instead, and that despite having been brought up to take over my shop. Proverbs 15:5.”

“A fool despises his father's instruction, but whoever heeds reproof is prudent.” Morse definitely didn’t sound like himself, and he looked about as pale as the day he had come home from hospital.

Only later that day would Fred realized he’d thought of his house as Morse’s home.

For now, he was busy with keeping himself from stuffing down the Bible McHardy’s throat. His child had died, and this was all he had to say?

“I take it he didn’t need your reproof?” he asked, barely attempting to conceal the sarcasm in his voice.

“No, he didn’t, Inspector. Really, it was a completely foolish notion of his” apparently for McHardy, foolish was about the worst thing one could be “But there was no talking him out of it. I told him if he were not an obedient son, he’d go to Hell, but…” he trailed off and for a second, there was sorrow in his face; and even if it was just self-inflicted wound of choosing to believe that his son was burning in hellfire, it made him look more human.

Mrs. McHardy still hadn’t looked at them.

“What about your daughter?” Fred asked, nodding towards the family pictures on the wall. “Were they close?”

“She is an obedient child.”

Probably a no, then. Or at least that was what he believed. Why she couldn’t have become a carpenter then was anyone’s guess. They maybe thought it wasn’t the right job for a woman. The war had thoroughly disabused Fred of all such notions.

“That will be all for now. Please accepts our deepest condolences.”

He nodded and they left. Morse, however, hesitated on the doorstep. “Now that I think about it, Mr. McHardy, I remember another verse. Matthew 12:33”.

The look on his face showed it was hardly a compliment.

“What –“ Fred began as soon as he’d closed the door in their faces.  

“Either make the tree good and its fruit good, or make the tree bad and its fruit bad, for the tree is known by its fruit” Morse quoted. “Sorry, sir. I couldn’t help it.”

“Quite understandable” was all he said. Morse hadn’t called him sir in a while.

The rest of the day passed quietly. There was little they could do until the autopsy was completed. Kevin Taylor had told them that James had appeared “ill”, but they didn’t know more than that.

As they prepared to go home for the night, Morse grew more and more distant and withdrawn, to the point where Strange started shooting him concerned looks.

Fred couldn’t blame him. He was rather worried himself.

Thankfully, no moroseness on Morse’s part could withstand Win’s hug when the arrived, and he did cheer up a little at dinner, especially when Joan told them about her day.

Still, after dinner Fred thought it best to offer him his first drink since he’d left the hospital. Joan and Win, guessing that something had happened, went upstairs.

He was careful not to give the lad too much, though. He seemed to guess what he was doing, since he gave Fred a loop-sided smile as he accepted the glass. “Haven’t had a drink in a while.”

“I wonder why” he said dryly. Granted, Morse didn’t laugh as he had hoped, but he did look a little more comfortable than before.

The hat stand rule was still firmly upheld – usually. Fred couldn’t help but think that today had to be an exception. “Mr. McHardy wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with grief, was he.”

Morse shrugged. “People react differently to bad news” was all he said.

“One thing I know, and that is that he has read his Bible. Not the important parts, though.”

“And which one would that be?”

“Isn’t there something in there about loving and protecting your children? I’m ready to bet there is.”

“There are many who ignore those” Morse said quietly, playing around with his glass. Fred wanted to ask but didn’t feel sure he had any right to.

And then, the lad started talking. “You know what he told me when he learned I’d gone back to the police? Proverbs 26:11. “As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly”. I didn’t really tell him much more what I was up to after that.”

Small wonder he’d reacted so badly to McHardy using the word fool. “He shouldn’t have said that” he replied firmly.

Morse shrugged. “Sometimes I’m still not sure it was the right thing for me.”

“Of course it was. You’re an excellent detective.”

“But a poor police man.”

“You’re still young. You’ll learn.”

Morse only shrugged again and Fred thought that this was it until he burst out, “He – I wish he’d said something else to me as he lay dying. Just… something. I mean, he must have liked me at one point, mustn’t he? He did take me in after Mum died after all.”

Yes, but Fred had sadly made the experience that sometimes, doing one’s duty had little to do with feeling that what one had to do was right. But that wasn’t he needed to hear right now. “I am sure he did.”

“I’m not”. His shoulders slumped. “I really think I should move back to my flat soon” he then abruptly changed the subject. “I’m well again, and there’s no reason for me to inconvenience you or Mrs. Thursday any longer…”

Oh dear. Mrs. Thursday. He hadn’t called her that in quite some time. Add to that him calling Fred sir earlier in the day, and him being forcefully reminded of the man who raised him, and it became quite clear to him that if he allowed him to slip out of their grasp now, they’d lose him. Oh, he’d still come over, but he’d never allow them to grow as close as Fred desperately wanted to.

Moreover, he felt certain that Morse wanted it to. He could feel it in his bones. “You’re not inconveniencing anyone” he said lightly, “Plus we both know you’ll only be leaving when Win allows you to, and I don’t think she’s ready for that yet.”

Morse drained his glass and rubbed his face with his hands, clearly frustrated. “You don’t have to – it’s – “ He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Fred’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“That I’m your son” Morse said bluntly. “I was raised by someone else, and God knows I didn’t exactly grow up into someone anyone would be proud to call his child.”

“I am” he said.

Morse gave him a look that could at best be described sceptical.

“I really am” he repeated. “Look, Morse, we were always more than just an Inspector and his bagman, right from the start, weren’t we? And I am bloody _glad_ that we found out the truth. I – I think I wanted you to be my son long before I knew that was even a possibility.”

Morse had turned his head away and Fred only realized why when he heard him sniffle. “Hey” he said him, gently touching his forearm, “Just give it some time, Morse. You’ll grow used to it.”

He sniffed once more, then nodded, but his shoulders seemed less tense than before.

They called it a night soon after that.

When they stood in front of Morse’s room, Fred decided to risk it and drew him into a short hug. “Get a good night sleep, son. It will all look better in the morning.”

“Thank you. Have a good night as well…” Morse hesitated, then closed his mouth.

It was better than being called sir.

* * *

 

Win knew immediately that something had taken place, of course. “Fred? Is everything alright?”

“It’s just the case. We got a witness who rather reminded Morse of his dad, and it’s shaken him up a bit.”

“That poor lad. As if he hasn’t been through enough.”

“He’s doing better now” he said as he got into bed and kissed her gently. “We just have to be patient.”

After all, he had reciprocated the hug, even if he’d obviously been surprised.

Still, Fred was definitely hoping that all would turn out well now.

* * *

 

No one had ever told him that they were glad to be related to him. No one. Mum might have when he was very little, but if so, he couldn’t remember it.

And DI Thursday wouldn’t lie about something like that, not even to make him feel better.

Morse didn’t know how to feel about it all. It was one thing to be assured that he wasn’t worthless, especially since Mr. McHardy had reminded him too much of the man he’d thought of as his father for years; but it was quite another to take the leap and –

He decide to take the DI’s advice and try and get some sleep. He doubted things would be much clearer ion the morning, but at least he’d be rested.

* * *

 

The next day, Doctor DeBryn finished the autopsy. They went to the morgue, Morse as usual standing a little way away from the body.

Fred hadn’t really had any expectations, but the result still surprised him. “Poison?” he asked, frowning at a word he wouldn’t even try to pronounce.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, a slow-working one. He must have been poisoned days ago.”

“Wouldn’t something like this be hard to get?” Morse asked hopefully, but DeBryn shook his head.

“No. I am afraid anyone could make it in their kitchen, if it is well-stoked.”

That didn’t exactly narrow down the suspect pool.

* * *

 

“At least now we know how Win would get rid off us if we ever walk across a floor she just moped again” he told Morse to lighten the mood as they walked back to the squad room. He was relieved to see the lad crack a smile.

It was the last one for the day. They were getting nowhere. McHardy seemed to have been well-liked, if you asked anyone but his father; his teachers had only good things to say about him; in fact he would most likely have gotten a scholarship if his days hadn’t been cut short.

What a waste.

Fred threw Morse, who was busy going through another file, a glance and wondered how Morse senior had reacted when he had told him he had a scholarship. Probably not very enthusiastically, all things considered.

He knew he’d have been prouder than he could have expressed. Win, too. They’d always been proud of the kiddies.

Maybe, he thought a little wistfully, if he and Morse had known the truth, if he’d gown up with them, he’d have finished his studies. In the next moment, he chastised himself for the thought. It didn’t matter. He was with them now, and the Oxford city police had gotten a bloody great detective out of it.

“Alright” he decided, “Time for lunch.”

They took Strange with them. They had their sandwiches, of course, but there was always room for a drink; or a juice, as had become Morse’s habit.

Fred was more relieved about that than he cared to admit.

When Morse went to the loo, he saw Strange following him with his eyes. “Something the matter, Sergeant?”

He flinched. “No, sorry, sir.” After a few moments he added, hesitantly, “It’s just that… me and a few of the lads had a few pints the other night, and we all agreed that Morse looks much better now than he did before getting shot. Some of us were worried, you know, with the beer he could put away…”

Knowing Jim Strange, he probably meant himself and whoever he had decided to impart his concerns on. “Doctor gave him a clean bill of health, although Win is still after him to take it easy.”

“I can imagine” he smiled, clearly remembering what he had seen on his regular visits to Morse before he’d been cleared for duty. “He seems happier too” he then added abruptly. “I used to think he was a little lonely, with his sister living so far away and all...”

“Our Joanie wouldn’t allow that anymore.” He wondered if Morse would ever tell his sister, or at least the one he had grown up with, the truth. It was his decision, of course – and thinking of her mother, Fred couldn’t blame him for not wanting her to know; but there was some primal part of him that just wanted everyone to know. He couldn’t help it.

Morse returned and by unspoken consensus they changed the subject.

* * *

 

That evening, it was Joan who dragged Morse off to the living room since she had decided to “educate” him, as she called it, about different types of music thank the one he usually listened to. Fred suspected he only did it to please her.

As he walked past the living room he heard, “I am not supposed to –“

“Come on, I’m not Dad, and I can tell the case is bothering you.”

He considered interrupting them – the hat stand rule hadn’t been broken in years – but on the other hand, they were two grown adults and if Morse felt comfortable enough to discuss the case with Joan, it must be a good sign.

He let them be.

Win agreed with him when they shared a cup of tea in the kitchen. “In know she misses talking to Sam. They always told each other everything.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure” Joan asked slowly after Morse had told her about the case, “That someone hated him enough to kill him?”

“Someone must have.”

“I don’t know” she mused. “After all, he’s free now, isn’t he?”

And Morse found that he didn’t have an answer.

* * *

 

“How come you get longer letters?” Joan complained the next morning when Morse opened another one from Sam.

“I think that’s just because we don’t know each other that well yet.”

“You didn’t, but by now he must have written his whole life story down. There wasn’t much to tell anyway.”

“Joan” Win admonished her gently.

“Oh Mum, I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”

Morse looked down to hide his smile, but Fred saw it regardless.

It made him smile, too.

* * *

 

That morning, Morse went to interview the sister. As it turned out, she had only just turned sixteen and was understandably upset.

Thankfully Mr. McHardy was at work, and Mrs. McHardy had raised no objection. As a matter of fact, Morse had yet to hear her voice.

Rose McHardy was sitting on the sofa in an unconscious imitation of the pose her mother had heard the news in.

“I am very sorry for your loss” Morse began.

She looked up at him with red, shrewd eyes. “Do you have siblings?” she asked abruptly.

“Yes, I have a –“ he stopped then continued, “Three. Two sisters and a brother. All younger.”

She nodded. “Then you know.”

Morse wasn’t quite sure that he did. He and Joyce had been close, as much as their situation had allowed them to be; but on the other hand…

Then again, his talks with Joan and Sam’s letters had given him a hunch how siblings cared for one another, even if it hadn’t been long since they had found out.

“We were a unit” she continued, relieving him of the embarrassment of explaining his family history to her. “We comforted each other, we listened to one another. He was my rock.”

And she had been his, Morse was ready to bet. “So he would have told you if he’d had problems?”

“He had problems, Constable” she said. “He and –“ She trailed off.

“Yes?” he tried gently- He was rather sure he could guess what she was about to tell him.

“He – he – he and Dad didn’t get along.”

“Your father mentioned something like that” he replied carefully.

She snorted. “I bet. And then he quoted the Bible.”

He didn’t dispute it.

“That’s all he does. Use God’s word to push his views onto people. As if that book means anything other than what people make it out to be.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “At least Mum listens to us. She might not understand some things, but I am sure she loves us. Not so sure about Dad.”

She was remarkably adult for a sixteen-year-old, Morse decided. Certainly more than he had been at that age.

Then again, remembering what he had almost done when he was fifteen…

A shudder ran through him as the thought occurred that if he had, he would never have found his real father and learned that he had more siblings.

“He seemed adamant that your brother should take over the shop.”

She shook her head. “And he with his two left hands. It would be a disaster. I mean, he’s really smart, but book-smart, you know, and –“ She pressed her hands to her mouth and Morse realized she’d forgotten he was gone for a second.

He took out his handkerchief just as she burst into tears.

“I’m sorry” she hiccupped. “I’m so sorry. I – I know you have a job to do –“

“It’s quite alright –“

“But you have to found out who did this! You have to find out and you have to lock them away!”

“We will do our best.”

She sniffed and he wondered if she found his reply pretentious.

“Were the anyone else other than your father who your brother had recently disagreed with?”

She shook her head. “No. He was really easy-going. Nice. People liked him.” Her voice sank. “People who weren’t dead”.

Anted for a moment, Morse wanted to lie to her, wanted to tell her that it simply wasn’t possible that someone who raised a child shouldn’t feel something like love for them, even if that love was a horrible and twisted thing, but then he thought of Dad spitting his last words at him and said nothing.

He ended the interrogation soon after that.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked as she saw him out.

“Of course.”

“Your father… does he approve of what you do? Police work?”

He opened his mouth to give his usual excuse of his father having passed, and then he made a split-second decision. “Actually, he does. He’s a police man himself.”

“Did he pressure you to –“

He laughed; he couldn’t help it. Just the thought of DI Thursday forcing anything on his children was too ridiculous to consider. “No. Not at all.”

“That’s good, then.” He thought she was going to tell him goodbye then, but she added, “It must be nice to have a good relationship with your dad.”

He thought for a moment then simply replied, “It is.”

It was.

* * *

 

That afternoon, they were discussing the case.

“I mean, his friend said he was ill, and the poison took several days to kill him” Strange said. “Someone must have wanted him to suffer. They must have hated him.”

Morse stepped up to the whiteboard, and suddenly there was a look in his eyes that Fred had come to know rather well. He’d had an idea.

“Or…” he said slowly, “It’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“What if yes, the killer wanted him to suffer, but it wasn’t done out of hatred but love?” Morse inquired.

“You’ve lost me” Strange told him.

“Who is probably the only one in the victim’s family who cooks on a regular basis? Who could have missed the poison into his food? Given Mr. McHardy’s conservative views, in all probability it’s –“

“Mrs. McHardy” Trewlovbe interrupted him, her eyes widening.

“But why would she poison her own son?” Fred argued. “It doesn’t make any sense.” Just the thought of something like that happening to his children (again, given Morse’s history) made his stomach churn.

“Like I said” Morse answered slowly, looking at the picture of the victim on the white board. “Love. Rose McHardy told me that – she said her mother loved them. That she never had any doubt of that.”

“But why would she want to kill him, if she loved him? And why would she do it in such a painful way?” Strange protested.

“They are very religious” Morse said, still staring at the white board. “And if James didn’t obey his father... Than he was in direct disobedience of the word of God.”

“But surely there are verses in the Bible that contradict that?” DI Thursday asked.

“Yes, but I don’t think Mr. McHardy paid any attention to them. Rose didn’t think so.”

They all fell silent. They didn’t want to think about it, naturally; but they had found no motive, and no one who could possibly want to kill McHardy outside his family. Everyone had got along well with him, had even liked him-

Except for his father. But his father had wanted to control him, not to kill him.

Mrs. McHardy opened the door for them and looked into Morse’s eyes. “Oh” she said then, the first word she’d ever bestowed on them. “You know.”

And it was then they knew they had been right. They glanced at one another as they followed her into the living room. She sat down on the sofa again, on the same spot she had occupied when they had first seen her.

“Mrs. McHardy” DI Thursday began smoothly, “Why?”

She looked up, her eyes blinded by tears. “I had to. Don’t you see? I –“ she swallowed. “It’s… it’s… Matthew 10:28.”

“And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” Morse quoted from memory.

She nodded. “James was disobeying God’s law by disobeying his father. He would have gone to Hell! I couldn’t allow that. So I made it so that he’d – that he’d suffer before. So that he’d go to heaven right away.” She started coughing then, the nervous, wracking cough of a person who was slowly slipping over the edge, and DI Thursday turned to Morse, “Get her a glass of water, lad, will you?”

He nodded and obeyed wordlessly.

* * *

 

Fred would later think that it had only been that one word that had saved him from a blow that might have knocked his brains out.

Mrs. McHardy had pointed out the books she’d used to educate herself on poisons in-between coughs and he’d wandered over to the book case to examine them, never seeing that she used his distraction to grab the fire poker.

He hadn’t thought her capable of it (his own bloody fault, they already knew she had murdered her own son) and so would probably have ended up at least heavily concussed, but then Morse’s voice rang out.

“Father!”

He probably wouldn’t have reacted as fast if he’d simply called out “sir” as he was wont to do, but that word caused him to turn his head almost immediately, and she only got his shoulder. It hurt, but nothing was broken.

Then Morse was busy cuffing her.

“I’m sorry” she said, suddenly quiet again. “I don’t know what came over me – and I would never have done it if I had known.” She turned to Morse. “I would never have made you watch me attack your father, you have to believe me, Constable.”

He didn’t look at either Fred or her as he nodded.

* * *

 

After they ended her formal interrogation at the station and watched her being led to a cell, Morse said abruptly, “We can’t leave Rose there with Mr. McHardy.”

Fred agreed, but didn’t know if there was much they could do. “I’ll try and call in a few favours.”

Morse nodded, still not looking at him properly. “Thank you –“ he hesitated.

“Oy”. Fred reached to squeeze his shoulder. “Let’s stick to _sir_ at work, since we don’t want to hear anything about special treatment, alright?”

At least he smiled at that.

“But Morse…” he swallowed. “If you want to continue calling me Father in our own time, I’d be honoured.”

More than honoured. Bloody freaking delighted, actually.

Maybe he was a possessive bastard, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Morse thought about it, then gave him the tiniest of nods.

Fred called his acquaintance with a smile on his face.

* * *

 

“So you got her out of there?” Joan asked Morse later that night. They’d withdrawn into the living room again; Morse more than suspected that – that Father was aware that they were talking about the case but had chosen not to intervene.

Win had given him the brightest of smiles when the word had slipped out again during dinner, and Joan had grinned. He’d no doubt shed write to Sam about it very soon.

“Yes. Father managed to reach out to someone who owed him a favour, and they brought her to a home. God knows what McHardy will do now.”

“He can throw himself in the river, for all I Care” Joan said with emphasis.

“Joanie!”

“I’m not sorry! Just imagine that, ruining the life of your wife and your children with religion you interpret any way you want just because –“ she suddenly looked stricken. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean _”

“It’s quite alright. At least my Bible knowledge was of use in this case” he told her, but his voice sounded weak to his own ears.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess it’s time you educate me again. It’s your turn picking the music.”

It was a lie, as he was well aware, but he only gave her a thankful smile.

* * *

 

“Thank God Morse came back into the living room when he did” Win fretted in the kitchen.

“It’s quite alright, nothing happened” Fred told her.

“You could look a little bit unhappier about it” she replied firmly, then shook her head. “Oh, why do I even try? Of course you won’t look sad today.”

“That obvious?” he asked.

“We’ve been married for a long time, love” she said. “And really I have been expecting this for a while now.”

“You have?” Fred had started wondering if he’d be stuck being “DI Thursday” for his own son forever quite some time ago.

“Oh yes, it’s obvious. He’s becoming more and more part of the family. He and Joan have their own little secrets, like she and Sam, and he’s always happy to help with the housework, no matter how exhausted she is.” Her eyes softened. “I am so glad we found out.”

“You and me both.” He sighed. “Even if the hat stand rule is a thing of the past.”

“You know Joanie always wanted to hear about your cases, but you were adamant. And if it helps making Morse feel welcome, I have absolutely no problem with it whatsoever.”

* * *

 

“Father” Morse said, knocking on his office door and entering. “Win called. She said to – oh sorry sir.”

He hadn’t known Superintendent Bright had shown up while he’d been chasing down a lead. Strange had only told him about the call.

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s quite alright, Constable. I just need a few more minutes with DI Thursday.”

Morse mumbled another apology and went back to his desk.

“Let me assure you sir that he only uses –“ Fred began but Bright simply waved a hand in the air.

“It’s quite alright. I understand this is a recent development?”

He nodded.

“Yes, yes, quite alright, as I said.”

Fred supposed it was the closes to a blessing they would ever get.

* * *

 

As soon as Bright had gone, Morse bursts into his office, his eyes wide open. “I’m sorry sir I didn’t realize –“

“Relax, Morse. Nothing happened. Now what did our Win say?”

He told him.

* * *

 

“That’s just unfair” Joan complained. “Who even thinks of trying a word like _quartzy_?”

“I do” Morse said and Fred raised his head to see if he was really that obtuse, but then he saw the twinkle in his eyes and realized he was just taking the piss at his baby sister.

Sometimes, he decided, life was rather good.

* * *

 

The next morning, a Saturday, he was surprised to find the kettle on and boiling in the kitchen when he came down. Win was still asleep, and both Joan and Morse tended to be late sleepers when it wasn’t necessary to get up.

Up he was, however, sitting in the living room, his head buried in his hands.

“Morse?”

He looked up; it wasn’t difficult to guess that he’d been crying. Fred stepped up to him.

“I called Joyce” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I wanted her to know. I just – want people to know.”

As welcome as that news was to him, he knew Morse didn’t need to hear that right now. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “What did she say, son?”

A smile stole across his face. “Her first words actually were I won’t tell Mum. And then she said I’d always be her brother, no matter what.”

“That’s good news.”

Morse nodded. “I just – I didn’t think – “ he broke off, then continued, “I’m not used to people wanting me around.”

“In case you ever want to be told that, just ask Win” he said, and Morse laughed.

“I suppose, Father.”

Fred didn’t think he’d ever get tired of Morse calling him that. “Why don’t I make us a cuppa?”

Morse nodded.

As they were sipping their drinks, Morse appeared lost in thought. Then he quietly said, “I’ve been thinking.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Fred said, “And that’s new?”

He threw him a rather grumpy glance that frankly wouldn’t have looked too out of place on Joan or Sam. “You know it’s not. I just – when you – “ he took a dep breath. “I’d like to keep staying here for a while. If the offer’s still open.”

“Of course it is, son. You know Win’s still after you to gain a few pounds.”

Morse smiled then, a happy, pleased smile, and even if his eyes were still a little red, Fred knew that everything was as it should be.

**Six months later**

He had grown quite used to dealing with lawyers. Annoying as they could be, they had a job to do, and Dan Ackroyd was far from the worst of the bunch.

So when he gestured towards the pictures of his desk and asked “May I?” Fred nodded.

He picked up the picture. It was a family shot taken a few weeks ago when they had gone up to Lincolnshire for a weekend to meet Joyce and Prudence Matthews.

“Isn’t that the young constable who led me into your office?”

“Sergeant, as of two weeks ago. My oldest.”

He nodded, although it was clear he remembered that they had different last names. “You must be very proud” he said, putting the picture back carefully.

“I am” was his only reply.

After all, it was true.


End file.
